


untitled

by freidacay



Series: Link [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Gentle Sex, I'm Bad At Tagging, Ice Play, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Sensation Play, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6136768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freidacay/pseuds/freidacay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want to do this. I'm just a little jittery, I promise. Besides, you're not gonna spank me or anything, right?"</p><p>"That can be arranged." Sans says, pitching his voice comically low.</p><p>You laugh. "What is this, <i>Fifty Shades of Grey</i>?"</p><p>"I am highly offended by that question," He sniffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled

**Author's Note:**

> something quick i wrote bc i feel bad for making people wait so long between fics ;;
> 
> Also, this was an idea I had very early on for this little universe. Once again, I really do have no idea where I want to go with this. It's kinda sorta developing a plot, though??
> 
> I didn't feel like browsing around for an appropriate title for this, so e.e cummings will have to wait for now, lol.

"Okay. Before we start, are you sure this isn't too tight?"

To emphasize his question, Sans curls one large hand around your bound wrists and tugs. He'd told you that the ties were silk. You hadn't been able to see them—you'd been blindfolded shortly after removing your clothes. His lower ribs are brushing against the hardened peaks of your nipples, making you breathe out an aroused sigh at the pleasurable sensation.

A sudden wave of nervousness crests in your stomach as you process the situation, and it makes you stutter over your words.

"Y-yeah, it's just right." You breathe out a shaky sigh.

"Hey," Sans' voice is low and comforting. "We don't have to do this, you know. I can untie you and we can just cuddle or something. Or I could take you home."

His hand trails down to your cheek, and you lean into his touch. 

"I want to do this. I'm just a little jittery, I promise. Besides, you're not gonna spank me or anything, right?"

"That can be arranged." He says, pitching his voice comically low.

You laugh. "What is this, _Fifty Shades of Grey_?"

"I am highly offended by that question," Sans sniffs.

You snicker and playfully kick your foot towards where you think he is. He catches it and and rubs his thumb just underneath the arch. You stifle a reflexive laugh.

"Ticklish there, huh?" He notes. You can hear the smile in his voice as he places your foot back on the bed.

"You remember what we talked about? Stoplight system?" 

 "Yeah." You say, squirming as his hands trail up your inner thighs. They teasingly dip towards the crease of your pelvis, pointedly avoiding the area between.

"I want you to tell me about it one more time while I get ready." Sans orders.

The bed creaks as he makes his way off of it. You can hear him pattering around his room. A tinkling noise follows, along with the sound of something scraping against wood, and then wood scraping against the floor. You get the sense that he's being loud for your benefit.

"Um. Okay. Uh, green means everything's okay, and you can keep going. Yellow means we need to slow down. Red means we need to stop completely."

"Please don't hesitate if you feel like you need to use any of those, baby. I'm not doing anything extreme, I don't think, but you never know." Sans tells you, his voice getting closer with each word.

The bed dips under his weight. You widen your legs as he shuffles towards you on his knees. You simply nod in reply; nerves have stolen your words once again.

"Relax." He murmurs.

He leans into you, supporting himself with one arm. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, his tongue licking a warm trail from your collarbone to the sensitive skin between your breasts. His tongue glides over the underside of your right breast. Your chest begins to heave with your breaths.

You let out a low moan as the tip of his tongue traces your right areola. He presses the flat of his tongue against your nipple, dragging upwards. He then gently sinks his teeth into the underside of your breast, just enough to spark a light ache. His teeth aren't especially sharp, but they certainly aren't blunt, and you can feel the way they slant at the tips as they dig into your flesh.

Then, abruptly, he moves away.

"Sans," you whine. 

"It's okay," he answers. You hear the tinkling noise once again. "Tell me if you don't like this."

Before you can ask him what he means, something cold and wet is pressed onto your nipple. You can feel your skin tighten.

"Is that—"

"Ice? Yeah. We still green?"

"Y-yes," you moan, gasping as he trails the wet ice cube over your areola. It's quickly removed and he puffs out a warm breath against your skin. 

"Good." 

Once the first cube melts against your skin, Sans uses another on your other nipple, mimicking the same method as before. By the time he's finished, your breasts are tingling pleasantly, and you're rolling your hips into the air, trying to find a way to relieve the ache in your core. You can hear him reach for more ice, but you can't feel any when his hands return to your body.

He briefly cups your breasts, kneading them in his hands. Then he cradles your sides, fingertips playing over where your ribs stretch underneath your skin with each breath. His palms slide down the curve of your waist, bones chilled and slick from the ice. 

With your sight effectively cut off, every touch is far more intense. You can hear every breath Sans takes, every appreciative moan and curse and growl and that he makes. Your own sounds are louder in your own ears, and you're sure you'll be embarrassed later. 

You open your thighs at his urging, too far gone for your usual bashfulness to set in. He has you raise your hips so he can place a pillow beneath your bottom.

"You okay, baby?" Sans asks, palms warm underneath your thighs as he raises them up. His voice sounds muffled. He presses his face into your belly. His tongue dips into your belly button, and it's colder than usual. You know what he did with the ice.

"I'm okay." You say. Your breath hitches with nearly every word.

Sans slowly makes his way down your body, pausing over your mons to press his teeth against the sensitives skin in lieu of a kiss. He spreads your folds with his thumbs, and blows a gust a cool air against your wet flesh.

"I'm gonna try something." He tells you. He places his fingertips against the hood of your clit, and you let out a relieved moan at the much-needed contact. He indulges you by circling the hardened nub with his fingertips, easily moving with each buck of your hips.

"Okay, just..." His movements pause. You're about to ask if he's okay. A warm pulse radiates from his hand. It's very near painful in its intensity, almost vibrating against your clit. You feel as though energy is racing up your body, dancing along your limbs and ending in your extremities. Your mouth falls open in a soundless cry.

"How we doing?" Sans ventures.

Stupidly, you nod your head. Realizing he probably wanted a verbal answer, you gasp, "Green. What was that?"

"Magic. Technically speaking, it's healing magic, but I've been tweaking it a little bit." He replies.

You can't help a hysterical little giggle. "Sans, are you really trying to invent your own sex magic?"

"Well, baby, you seem to like it." He chuckles, sending another pulse of magic through your body.

You let out a loud moan, your thighs momentarily closing around Sans' hand. You toss your head. You want nothing more than to be free of your restraints. You feel especially needy. The urge to cling to him is strong. Your hands curl into fists.

"That's it, baby girl, just let it happen." He purrs.

His fingers dip into your entrance, and then up into the folds of your inner lips, bringing your slick with them. He pauses, and you can feel him reaching for more ice. You wonder where he's put the bowl he must be using, and how much he plans on using. A piece of ice, almost completely melted, is pressed against your clit. You jerk, releasing a high-pitched cry. It melts quickly, but it leaves a tingling trail of cold in its wake.

Sans leans forward, his ribs pressing against your breasts.

"I think that's enough. I want to taste you." He whispers into your ear. You turn your head and kiss the arc of his cheekbone, desperate for some kind of contact.

"Yes," you answer. "Yes."

He pulls away entirely too fast for your liking, but it isn't long before he's pushing your thighs apart and sliding his tongue against your pussy, letting out a low groan at your taste. One hand presses onto your belly, and the other cradles your hip to pull you closer. Your circle your hips in his hold, unsure of whether or not you want to move with him or against him.

The tip of Sans' tongue dips into your entrance, stretching the muscle there. You jolt at the foreign feeling of the lingering cold on his thick tongue. He swirls the tip against your walls, before retracting it completely. The hand on your belly moves down, his thumb slipping between your folds to pull at the hood of your clit until your nub is exposed to the air. You whimper as he licks slow circles against it. He's humming and moaning and the vibrations are sweet torture. You can feel yourself tightening.

"Sans, I'm gonna cum," you tell him.

"So close already, baby?" He asks. You're distantly surprised that his voice is completely unaffected by what he's doing with his tongue. Your brows furrow when he slides two fingers into you with his other hand, making you cry out.

"Please, just like that. Don't stop, Sans! Please, please," you beg him, your voice pitching upwards.

His fingers crook inside of you, curling forwards in a come-hither motion, and it only takes a few strokes of his fingers against that special spot, along with his tongue dragging against your clit, to have you clamping down against his fingers. You arch your back through your orgasm, feet curling into the mattress as you buck your hips against his face. The ties on your wrists dragging against your sweaty skin with every jerky movement. You can't help but bite your lip in attempt to muffle your cries, still afraid that they're load an unattractive.

Sans pumps his fingers in time with each contraction. You're mildly embarrassed by the wet squelch of his fingers inside you. His tongue is still pressed against your clit, and you shakily tell him to stop before you become oversensitive.

He pulls his fingers out once you've trembled you way through the aftershocks,  and once he moves from between your thighs, you press them together, squirming at the lingering warmth.

"That was amazing, baby. Thank you." Sans hums. He reaches for your wrists, and with a few well-placed tugs, you're free. He gently pulls the blindfold from your head, smoothing your hair out. You blink to adjust your eyes to the light, and Sans' smiling face is the first thing you see. His left eye is glowing that familiar, eerie green-blue. You watch in fascination as it flutters, like a light bulb losing power, before it's replaced with its usual white glow.

You wrap your arms around him, burrowing your face into his collarbone. He chuckles, his hands moving up and down your back as you catch your breath. He whispers praise into your ear, telling you that you did wonderfully, that you were amazing to watch. He asks if you're okay several times, and you nod jerkily. You feel a little silly, and wonder if you aren't being needy.

"What about you?" You say, at length. "I want—I mean, do you want me to, um..." 

"Took care of that. You underestimate how sexy you are. Come on, let's get cleaned up." He says, hand at your hip.

Once you're both off of the bed, he hooks his arm underneath your knees and picks you up with a grunt. You let out a surprised shriek, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

"Wow, you're really heavy," Sans laughs, as he makes a beeline for the door. You playfully smack at the back of his head.

"Or maybe you're literally bones and magic, dork." You retort, biting your lip to hide your thrilled grin. You're pretty sure your mouth must be super red by now.

"'Literally bones and magic' can still bone you pretty well, doll." He says, breezily. He tosses his head and only narrowly misses your overnight bag.

"Oh my god," you laugh, as he tries to play it off. 

"I told you, it's just Sans."

This earns him another smack, but you're laughing, so he doesn't seem to mind it overmuch.

* * *

You are half awake by the time Sans begins exploring your body. He pulls your hair aside to kiss your neck, his tongue darting forth to trace the line of the tendon that presses against your skin when you move your neck.

He cups your breasts, weighing them in his hands before squeezing, thumbs and forefingers pinching the peaks of your nipples. Then he caresses your sides, his hands pausing at your hips. You aren't roused completely until he moves one hand over your mound, presses his fingertips against your clit, and sends a familiar pulse of magic tuning through you. You're half on your side, your back pressed into his front, with his femur pressed firmly between your thighs. You tremble at the shock of arousal running through you.

"Good morning," Sans mumbles. He gently maneuvers you by the hip, raises your top leg over his, and slides into you. You're slick and ready. His wiggles his other hand beneath you so he can circle your clit, sending gentle waves of magic pulsing against it. You balance yourself up with one elbow, and reach behind you with your free hand to cradle the back of his head. His weight is comforting, pressed into your back. You feel wrapped up in him.

The angle is just right. Sans is pumping into you at a leisurely pace. You appreciate the slow drag of his thick shaft against your walls.

"Like this, baby? You like it like this?" Sans moans into your ear. His teeth catch your lobe, gently nipping at your skin.

"Yes!" You gasp. You let out a high whine when he interrupts his rhythm with a particularly harsh thrust. He breathlessly apologizes, resuming his gentle rhythm. 

"It's okay," you tell him, but he simply shakes his head. 

"I know, just... Fuck," he hisses, as you clench around him in response to his words. His voice wrecks you. He could read a grocery list and you'd still be aroused by it.

Soon enough, you're on the edge, the combination of his magic on your clit and his girth length thrusting inside pushing you to orgasm. You release a torrent of gasping cries and high pitched moans, his name falling from your lips just as you cum. Your hands scramble for something to hold onto, and in the end your fingers are curling tightly into the sheets as you move your hips as best as you can in an attempt to work your way through the powerful wave of pleasure. The contractions are almost painful in intensity. Sans follows you not soon after, groaning your name into your neck as he spills inside of you.

"Good morning." You say, after the two of you have calmed. You bask in your afterglow for a few moments, covering Sans' hands with your own when he locks them together over your stomach. His thumb rubs circles into your slick skin. 

You giggle. It's an awful, girlish little sound, but you're too happy to care much about it. Sans laughs along with you, his hand making a comforting path up and down your side.

"Hey. Its, like, five-o-clock in the morning. I gotta go to work soon, but you can stay for as long as you want. If you're still here when I get back, I can make us some food." He offers, squeezing your hip.

"That sounds great. Where do you work?" You ask, turning to face him.

His grin is a little sheepish. "I'm a professor. Not at your school, but yeah."

"No! Really?" This has you giggling again. "Oh my gosh, I feel so... Naughty."

"You are." He growls, playfully jostling you, and you let out an embarrassed laugh.

"But, um. I really gotta jet. Maybe we can talk more later?" He asks, as he sits up.

"Of course," you reply. "But for now, I'm just gonna sleep."

"Have a good rest, baby doll. You know where the shower is. Make yourself at home." He leans in in the tail end of his answer, giving you a questioning look. You smile, and kiss his teeth.

"See you later." You whisper. 

You're asleep before he backs out of the room. His smile is the last thing you see.

* * *

The next time you wake up, an unfamiliar voice reaches your ears.

"Sans? SANS? Are you home?! You'd better not be sleeping, you lazybones!"

Could that be his brother, Papyrus? Sans said he wasn't due home for another day, at least. You can hear the stranger rifling around downstairs.

"Well, since you aren't answering me, I'll let you come down on your own! You have been quite distracted lately! I'm making pancakes instead of spaghetti! You should actually EAT this time! I'll infuse it with magic too!"

That's definitely his brother. Sans has told you about his unhealthy obsession with Italian cuisines. You allow yourself a moment of deep panic. What are you supposed to tell his brother? You don't even know what you and Sans are. You feel terribly awkward.

You decide you'll cross that bridge when you get there, and make your way out of Sans' large bed. You stretch your sore muscles, smiling at the memories they bring despite yourself, and grab your overnight back. You're glad that the upstairs bathroom is right across the hall.

After a quick shower, you get dressed and nervously make your way down the stairs. 

"Ahh, Sans, good! Are you actually going to—you're not Sans!" Papyrus cuts himself off as you step into the living room. You glance over to your left, where the kitchen is sectioned off from the living room with an aisle. A lanky skeleton monster is poking his head through the small window between the aisle and the cupboards above. A delicious smell is permeating the air. As if on cue, your stomach growls.

"Uh, hi?" You give a weak little wave, shifting uncomfortably.

Papyrus' sockets narrow. If you squint, it almost looks like he has eyebrows. 

"Sans should have told me we had a guest! I would have made you something you like! I suppose you'll have to settle for my expertly crafted breakfast!" Papyrus can't seem to stop shouting. You'd been informed that he speaks loudly, but being told about something and experiencing it are two different things.

Wincing, you say, "Yeah. We, uh, didn't know you were going to be back today."

"Of course you didn't! I wanted to surprise my brother with breakfast. But! I am happy to share my surprise with you!" 

At least he's friendly.

Papyrus urges you into the kitchen. He's wearing a white shirt that says "YOUR HUSBAND" in bold black letters, and a pair of blue jeans. He lifts you from the ground like you weigh nothing, giving you a tight hug. You wheeze and pat his back.

"Welcome, friend of Sans! It has been a bit since Sans brought a friend home." 

Oddly enough, he deposits you onto the kitchen bar. You let out an incredulous laugh as he pats your head. Taking a deep breath in a bid to regain the breath he stole with his crushing embrace, you ask, "He's brought friends home before?"

Papyrus hums an affirmative, happily flipping pancakes. "A little while after we left the Underground, yes! He says he found a group of people who enjoy puzzles!" His sockets narrow again.

"But he never let me join!" Just as soon as it came, his frustration is gone, and he continues to ramble on. He's a comfortable cook, you notice, easily flipping his pancakes with one flick of the wrist. He stacks each finished one onto a plate with practiced ease.

"He would bring some of them home. and they'd disappear into his bedroom for hours! Isn't that horrible?! I wanted to join them! And most of them were humans. I love humans! Sans wouldn't let me talk to them!" Papyrus bellows. 

You nod absently, genuinely wanting to show him solidarity. There's an odd feeling in your stomach.

"Has that happened recently?" You ask.

"Oh, yes! It was, like, a week ago? They didn't talk long. And the other day, he went to the club. I wish he would let me join."  Papyrus huffs. Then he turns to you with a hopeful grin.

"Perhaps we can solve some puzzles together? You are a part of my brother's puzzle club, are you not?" He asks, excitedly.

"Yeah," you reply. "I guess I am. I mean, we can totally solve some puzzles together."

Papyrus' delighted scream—an honest to god  _scream_ —manages to kill any sadness that's trying to creep into you. You suppose you don't have any right to feel sad. You don't know why you thought you were a special case. It's not like he's your boyfriend. Still, you know you've just gained a wound that will fester once you're given time to think about it.

"I am The Great Papyrus, Sans' brother!" The tall skeleton says, drawing you out of your thoughts.

"I know." You say, smiling. You tell him your name. He repeats it.

"That is a lovely name! And you have a lovely face!" Papyrus adds, which makes your smile widen. You chuckle and thank him. He prepares a plate for you, and you accept it with a murmured word of thanks.

You get the feeling it's going to be a long day.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me if I left any mistakes behind. I kinda wrote this in a rush and I hate reading my own stuff for too long ;-;
> 
> Also, I don't think I should have to leave any kind of warning, but just in case: PLEASE be safe if you ever want to try something like this irl! Research is your friend. (There was a time when I was super super curious about the whole BDSM scene, so I did a bunch of reading. I was too chicken to ever try it out, tho.)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Find me on [Tumblr](http://freidacay.tumblr.com) so we can talk fics and things!


End file.
